The Enemy Within
by prophet87
Summary: His secret identity revealed to the world, Oliver has moved to Star City, where he has continued his fight against crime. He appears invincible, but new enemies are waiting in the shadows, enemies who plan not only his destruction, but the destruction of the entire Justice League.
1. Chapter 1

It's been nearly a year since I finished my last story, and after a lot of thought I've decided to go ahead with a sequel to "Green Arrow: Resurrection." I say it's a sequel, but in fact it can be read as a stand-alone; there will be references to what's happened before, but even if you haven't read my other stories you should still be able to enjoy this one. I've got lots of twists and turns planned, as well as plenty of action, adventure and angst. There will also be a lot of whump for our heroes, which won't come as a surprise to anyone who has read my earlier stories - as you know, for me it's not a good fic unless you take the good guys to hell and back!

Let me set the scene by reminding you where we left things at the end of "Green Arrow: Resurrection." After a titanic struggle with Lex Oliver and the guys finally succeeded in defeating him, and at the beginning of this story he is presumed dead. In the course of his fight with Lex, however, Oliver's double life as the Green Arrow was exposed, and this story is set in a world where everyone knows the true identity of the archer. Six months have passed since the events of "Resurrection," and Oliver and Chloe have moved to Star City. The other members of the Justice League have dispersed to fight their own battles, and Clark has at last embraced his identity as Superman. Meanwhile Oliver and Chloe have struggled to cope with the attention of the world's media, whilst at the same time making preparations to get married. As Green Arrow Oliver has moved against the criminals of Star City with devastating effect, and outwardly everything appears perfect. However, Oliver is haunted by memories of what he suffered at the hands of Lex, and in the shadows new enemies have been plotting, waiting for their moment to strike...

So the stage is set - here we go again!

**Chapter 1: Cleaning up the Streets **

Aldo Minetti was nervous. He was not normally a man given to moments of anxiety; in his business he couldn't afford to be. But these were not normal times, which also explained why he was standing in the middle of a piece of waste ground at one o'clock in the morning. Four months ago he would have entrusted a deal like this to one of his men. Then it would have seemed nothing special; a standard delivery, just like the dozens that had gone before. Now things were different. Those men he'd once relied on – good guys, guys who'd served the family for years - were gone, either dead or behind bars. Gone, too, was much of the empire he and his father had built up over the past thirty years, an empire that had made him one of the most feared and powerful organised crime bosses in the country. Now, however, he was the one who was afraid. He was fighting to survive, his life's work all but ruined. And all because some arrogant pretty boy billionaire wanted to play the hero…..

He checked his watch.

Three minutes past one.

They were late – why were they always late?

He fumbled for a cigarette, his hand shaking slightly as he lit up. Annoyed that his nerves had betrayed him, he glanced at his men, all armed with automatic weapons powerful enough to blow a hole through a brick wall. Fortunately none of them had noticed, their eyes instead scanning the area, searching for any sign of danger, any sign of _him_…..

Suddenly the sound of a car's engine disturbed the still night air. Minetti's men tensed, each gripping his gun a little tighter. Their boss, in contrast, felt a surge of relief. They were here – in five minutes the exchange would be made, and he could get the hell out of there.

A black SUV appeared, its lights momentarily dazzling Minetti as it drove towards them. Coming to a halt a few yards from where they stood, five men got out. In the half-light cast by the moon, they appeared identical to each other; the same impeccably cut dark suits, the same slicked back hair, the same eastern European scowls.

Minetti frowned. A year ago he would never have dreamt of dealing with the Russian mob; they were too brash, too careless. Now he had no choice. His usual suppliers had been forced out of business, victims of a police crackdown inspired by the archer and his band of freaks. Only the Russians had the coke he needed in the right quantities to keep his Star City operation going. He had to deal with them, however distasteful they might be.

One of the men came towards him, his scowl replaced by a broad grin.

"Aldo!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "It is good to see you, my friend!"

The two men shook hands, Minetti forcing a thin smile to his lips. The other man appeared relaxed, as if he were meeting up with an old friend for a beer.

"You have the merchandise?" asked Minetti. His tone was anything but relaxed; he sounded anxious, his eagerness to complete the deal all too obvious.

"I have the merchandise," confirmed the other man, his smile widening slightly. It amused him to see the once all powerful Carlos Minetti nervous like this, and he couldn't resist the urge to play with him a little.

"But first a drink, yes?" he continued, pulling a finely engraved hip flask from his pocket. "Vodka, the finest – I have it imported from St Petersburg. Here, have some. A toast - to our new partnership."

"Another time, maybe," said Minetti, refusing the Russian's offer. "I have the money – five million, as we agreed." As he spoke one of Minetti's men stepped forward and handed him a briefcase. Minetti opened it, turning it so that the other man could see the neatly stacked bundles of notes inside.

The Russian whistled, his eyes widening at the sight of the money. He picked up one of the bundles, holding it up to his nose and making a show of sniffing the crisp, unmarked notes.

"Ahh, the American dollar!" he purred, as if appreciating the bouquet of a fine wine. "There is no sweeter smell, my friend – except the smell of a good woman, yes?"

"You've got the money, Mikhail – now where's my drugs?"

"Be patient, my friend! I am sure you do not expect me to hand over such a valuable consignment without first checking that the payment is as we agreed."

The Russian handed the case to one of his men, who returned to the SUV to begin the process of counting the money.

Minetti bit his lip. He was desperate to complete the deal and get out of there, but it was clear that the Russian was in no hurry. He had no choice but to wait, but his sense of unease was growing with every passing second. His eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of danger. There was none, but still he couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere out there another pair of eyes were watching, waiting…..

"So, what about that drink?" continued the Russian, once more offering Minetti the flask. The other man barely noticed; he continued to stare off into the blackness, his ears straining to detect even the slightest sound that seemed out of place.

"What's the matter, Aldo? You seem nervous – perhaps you are expecting a visit from the archer, eh?"

Minetti frowned, but said nothing; the Russian was playing with him, trying to provoke a reaction, and he had no intention of taking the bait.

"What do they call him? The Green Arrow? I tell you, if this man Queen was in Russia he would not be a problem. We would eliminate him – a single bullet, that is all it would take, a single….."

Minetti felt something pass his cheek, the air rippling almost imperceptibly. He turned. The Russian was staring at him, the grin of moments earlier replaced by a mixture of shock and outright terror. For a split second Minetti didn't understand what was happening, until his eyes were drawn to the arrow that protruded obscenely from the other man's chest, a charge of electricity crackling from its tip. The Russian tried to speak, but no words would come; instead he fell backwards, hitting the earth with a thud. Aghast, for a moment Minetti stood rooted to the spot. He'd feared an ambush, even half-expected it, but now it was happening his mind was struggling to catch up. Then the gunfire started. The Russians shot wildly into the darkness, the crackle of automatic rounds being discharged shattering the stillness of the night air. Their enemy remained unseen, but unlike his more well-armed opponents his arrows did not fail to find their targets. Off to his left Minetti saw a second man fall, an arrow embedding itself in his thigh and causing him to cry out in pain. He didn't wait to see what happened next. He ran for his car, throwing himself into the passenger seat just as two more of the Russians fell to the ground away to his right.

"Drive!" he shouted, ducking down as low as possible as bullets continued to fly in all directions.

His chauffeur didn't move, but just stared at Minetti, his eyes wide with fear.

"Drive, damnit – get me the fuck out of here!"

Stung into action, the other man started the car. As he did so the windshield in front of him shattered, showering both men with glass. Horrified, Minetti soon identified the cause; an arrow, now embedded in his driver's chest. He didn't hesitate. Reaching across, he threw open the door on the driver's side, before unceremoniously pushing the stricken man from the car. Keeping as low as possible, he then eased himself over into the driver's position. Taking hold of the wheel, he rammed his foot hard on the gas pedal. The back wheels of the car span, before it accelerated away in a cloud of dust.

His pulse racing, Minetti steered the car towards the road. He hit it with a jolt, so hard he almost lost control of the wheel. Recovering, he yanked the wheel to the left and again stepped on the gas. The car responded, roaring off up the deserted street.

A wave of relief swept over Minetti. He didn't care about the drugs; neither did he care about the bundles of dollar bills, which at that moment lay strewn around the bodies of the men who were supposed to have been the guarantee of his security. All that mattered was that he'd escaped. He'd recover, come back and fight another day – and next time he'd be ready for that bastard who thought he ruled this city….

The sound of a second engine interrupted his thoughts – a motorcycle, approaching fast. He glanced in his rear view mirror. There, gaining on him at an alarming speed, was the single headlight of a high performance bike. Panicking, he floored the gas pedal, willing the car to go faster. He knew who was chasing him, and it wasn't one of his own security detail.

_Queen!_

Cursing himself for being so stupid as to think he could get away that easily, Minetti took a hard right, turning into a narrow side street. The bike followed, still gaining on him fast. He knew that it was hopeless, and that his chances of shaking his pursuer were next to zero. It was then that the idea hit him. The bike was nearly upon him now, just a dozen or so feet behind. Minetti jammed his foot on the brake. As the car suddenly decelerated he was thrown forwards, only his seatbelt preventing him from being thrown headlong through the shattered windscreen. The rider of the bike was not so lucky. He tried to swerve, but it was too late; just as Minetti intended, the bike clipped the side of the rear bumper, the force of the impact sending both it and its rider flying high into the air.

"Take that, motherfucker!" shouted Minetti, exultant as the bike crashed spectacularly into one of the walls that rose high on either side of the street. A few seconds later and the car came to a halt, about sixty feet further on from where the bike had come to rest. Minetti sat still, his heart pumping so hard he thought it was about to explode from his chest. For a moment he thought about making good his getaway; the road ahead of him was clear, and there was nothing between him and the safety of his fortified mansion out in the foothills that surrounded the city. But the pull of what lay behind him proved too irresistible to ignore. Somewhere back there was the Green Arrow, wounded, helpless. Why shouldn't he finish the job? He'd never get a better opportunity to destroy the man who had all but ruined him – how could he pass on that?

_Aldo Minetti, the man who killed the Green Arrow._

He liked that thought – he liked it a lot. With one bullet he could end the nightmare of the last six months, restore his fortunes after all the humiliations, all the setbacks he had suffered at the hands of Queen and his band of freaks. Once again _he_ would be the man who mattered in Star City – not some wannabe hero who thought life was like some kid's comic book.

Reaching forwards, he opened the glove compartment, fumbling for the gun that he knew his driver always kept there. Checking that it was loaded, he then looked in his rear view mirror. He could just about make out the mangled remains of the bike, its shape clearly visible in the light cast by a lamp mounted high on the wall that it had crashed into just a minute or so earlier. There was no sign of its rider, but Minetti was undeterred. He'd seen Queen somersault through the air; there was a good chance he was already dead, and even if he'd survived he'd be in no condition to give him any trouble. His confidence growing, he got out of the car and began to make his way back towards the scene of the collision.

The air was still, and the street seemed unusually quiet. After the roar of the chase the silence unnerved him a little; he clasped the gun a little tighter, his finger poised over the trigger. Advancing on what was left of the bike, his eyes searched the ground, trying to make out where his pursuer had landed. There was nothing, just the remains of what Minetti could now see was a top of the range ducati. Suddenly he felt uneasy. Something wasn't right – something wasn't right at all…..

A loud crashing sound to his left caused him to spin round, his heart in his mouth. He fired, the sound of the gun echoing off the walls and shattering the calmness of the night air. There was a screeching sound, and a cat shot out from under a dumpster.

_Dumb ass,_ said Minetti to himself. _Shooting at a goddam cat…._

"You want to watch where you shoot that thing, Minetti – someone could get hurt."

Minetti swung round. For a spilt second he saw nothing – just a blank wall and the bottom of a fire escape. He looked up. A figure was staring down at him from two flights up on the escape, a figure that reason and common sense told him could not be there…..

_Green Arrow!_

Terrified, Minetti took aim and fired - or he would have done, had his finger pressed down on the trigger before an arrow sent the gun flying from his hand.

"Your aim's lousy, Minetti – but not as lousy as your driving. Seriously, you need to get some lessons – didn't anyone ever tell you to watch out for motorcycles?"

The voice was deep and smooth, its owner apparently unaffected by the crash which had left his bike a write-off. Shocked and appalled, Minetti stood rooted to the spot. He couldn't quite believe what was happening. He'd seen Queen fly through the air, his bike hit that wall at at least fifty miles an hour. The man should be dead – why the hell wasn't he dead? Maybe it was right what they said about him – maybe he really was indestructible….

"It's over, Minetti," continued Oliver, vaulting over the side of the escape and dropping lightly to the ground. "Now put your hands up – no tricks now, I really don't want to hurt you."

Slowly, Minetti began to raise his hands. As he did so his instinct for self-preservation at last kicked in, banishing the surprise that for a few moments had left him dumbstruck. He knew that if he allowed himself to be taken he was facing some serious jail time – he'd spend years behind bars, maybe even decades. He couldn't allow that to happen, not while there was still a chance he might make it out of that street a free man. Glancing to his left, he saw the dumpster. Immediately he grabbed at it, and with all the force he could muster he drove it hard in Oliver's direction. He didn't stay to see what happened next, but instead turned and ran back in the direction of his car. It was a crazy thing to do, something he knew had next to no chance of success. Still he ran, his heart thumping in his chest as he fixed his eyes firmly on the open car door, the door that offered him one final shot at freedom….

He never heard the arrow being fired, but he certainly felt it. A searing pain in his right leg, so crippling it immediately sent him crashing to the ground. Immobilised, he lay helpless for a few seconds, staring impotently at the arrow which had cut deep into his calf muscle. He was in agony, but the wound didn't hurt half as much as the knowledge that he'd failed, that along with so many of the criminals of Star City he'd fallen victim to one man's insatiable quest for justice.

He looked up. Oliver towered over him, his eyes hidden behind the shades he continued to wear whilst out on patrol. At his side he held a crossbow. It pointed towards the ground, not Minetti; both men knew he was in no condition to make a second break for freedom.

"I warned you," said Oliver calmly. "You shouldn't have run."

"I'll kill you for this, Queen!" replied Minetti, scowling at his captor. The pain from his leg was getting worse, but at that moment his hatred for the young hero was so strong nothing else seemed to matter.

"Really? I don't think so," replied Oliver. "You're going away for a long time, Minetti, and I hate to break it to you, but I don't plan on paying you a visit."

"You think locking me up is going to save you?" hissed Minetti, his anger boiling over. Words were the only weapon left to him, and he was determined to make them count. "I've got friends, Queen – friends who will make you suffer for this. You and that bitch fiancé of yours – what's her name? Chloe? They'll take her and they'll hurt her, Queen – they'll make you watch while they…"

Oliver had heard enough. Balling his hand into a fist, he leant down and punched the other man square in the face, knocking him unconscious.

Lifting himself back up, Oliver stood for a moment, staring down at his victim. Although he didn't show it, he was hurting – the fall from the bike had left him with some bruised ribs, and blood was oozing from a cut to his right shoulder. Still he felt satisfied. It had been a good night's work, and with Minetti's capture the last of Star City's mob bosses had been taken out of action. It was time to call it a night – time to head home.

He tapped the earpiece which connected him to his base.

"Watchtower, this is Arrow, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Arrow – any trouble?"

Oliver smiled at the sound of Chloe's voice. "Nothing I couldn't handle - the bike's a write-off, though."

"Are you okay?"

"A little bruised, but nothing a massage from a devoted sidekick can't put right."

"I'll let Roy know," replied Chloe dryly, deliberately choosing to misinterpret Oliver's meaning. "I'm sure he'll be happy to help."

Oliver grinned. "I'll be back in an hour," he continued. "Give the Star City PD my location – I'll wait here until they pick up Minetti."

"Will do." There was a slight pause. "And Arrow."

"What?"

"Love you."

"Love you, too, Watchtower."

Oliver tapped his earpiece, cutting the link to his base. He smiled. For months now the two of them had been signing off like that, but in just two weeks everything would change.

In two weeks they were getting married.

In two weeks she would no longer just be his Watchtower – she would be Mrs Oliver Queen.

* * *

Always good to start with Ollie at his butt-kicking best. Next chapter will see the clouds start to gather, as we meet our villains and begin to get a sense of their evil plan...*cue wicked, echoing laughter*

Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Please do post a review if you can - it would be great to know that you guys are still out there!


	2. Chapter 2: The Last Piece of the Jigsaw

**Chapter 2: The Last Piece of the Jigsaw**

As Oliver waited for the Star City PD to show up and take Minetti into custody, across town two other figures were also waiting for an arrival. Like Minetti's meeting with the Russians, theirs was to be a secret rendezvous, held far away from prying eyes. A deserted underground parking lot had been chosen, its security cameras conveniently disabled; neither of the two waiting figures wanted to leave any record of what was about to take place. Both, however, knew that the fate of their plan hung on the outcome of this meeting. If all went well, the final piece of the jigsaw would be in place; all that would then remain would be to set the wheels in motion…..

They appeared an unlikely pair as they stood in front of their SUV, its windows heavily tinted to prevent anyone from seeing inside. One was a man in his late twenties, dressed in a leather blazer and black shirt and pants. Well groomed and clean shaven, he was strikingly handsome – the sort of man who turned heads wherever he went. Despite his good looks, there was something about his eyes, an intensity that was almost unnerving; they sparkled in the light cast by one of the overhead lights, filled with excitement and expectation of what was to come. Beside him stood a woman, also dressed head to toe in black. She was much older, probably around seventy years of age. The passage of time had not been kind to her, and a layer of thick make up and some scarlet lip gloss could not hide the many lines that now marked her once flawless complexion.

"He's late," she observed curtly, glancing over to her companion. It was he who had devised the plan to which they were now committed, a plan she had agreed to against her better judgement. Her sole priority was the Kryptonian, but she was all too aware that he had other motives, motives which centred around his fascination with Oliver Queen. He was obsessed with the young billionaire whose face stared out from every newsstand, the leather clad hero who had taken down Lex Luthor and who was now in the process of cleaning up Star City, long blighted by one of the worst crime rates in the country. It was an obsession that had been allowed to shape the plan that they were now about to put into action, even though in the mind of the woman it entailed wholly unnecessary risks. She had voiced her doubts, made clear her reservations, but eventually had decided to go along with what he proposed; she consoled herself with the knowledge that if everything went wrong it would be he who would have to answer to their master, not her.

"He'll be here," replied the man calmly, choosing to ignore the implied criticism that came with her statement. Right on cue, a car could be heard entering the underground parking lot. Seconds later it appeared, pulling up just a few yards from where they stood. A man got out. He was around thirty years of age, of average build and height. Dressed in jeans and a lightweight jacket, there was little to distinguish him from thousands of others who lived and worked in the city just a few feet above them; certainly nothing that hinted at the remarkable power he possessed, a power that the two people he had come to meet were keen to harness.

The others exchanged glances. The man's nondescript appearance wasn't what they expected – was this really the guy they had spent six months trying to track down?

"You Desaad?" he asked, answering their question for them; only he could have known their identities, which they guarded almost a closely as he guarded his own.

"I am," confirmed the young man, smiling as he stepped forward and offered his hand in welcome. "I'm glad you could make it, Mr Bates – you're a hard man to track down."

"Yeah, well, that's kinda the point," replied Bates, shaking the other man's hand.

"My associate, Madam Goodness," continued Desaad, introducing his companion.

This time there was no handshake, Goodness making no effort to greet their guest. Bates could tell from the look on the woman's face that this meeting was Desaad's idea, not hers. It was obvious she didn't approve of him, and the feeling was mutual.

"Your message said you had a job for me – an offer I couldn't refuse," said Bates, turning his attention back towards Desaad.

"That's right – it's one that requires your very particular talents," replied Desaad, choosing to overlook the obvious tension between Goodness and Bates. "The target is a prominent figure, but one I think you'll find interesting."

Bates shrugged, apparently unimpressed. "I don't give a fuck who he is – how much?"

Desaad smiled thinly. Bates' coarse language offended him, but he had no choice but to ignore it. His whole plan to destroy the Justice League depended on this man; he couldn't afford to upset him, not after all the weeks he'd spent preparing for this moment.

He hesitated, hoping that the figure he was about to propose was pitched at the right level.

"Ten million."

Bates' expression didn't flicker. "Fifteen, with eight up front," he said coolly. "If the target is high profile the risks are higher. Those are my terms – take them or leave them."

On principle he always asked for more than he was offered. He expected to have to bargain, but Desaad immediately agreed to his terms; it was obvious they needed him, whatever the price.

"There's just one more thing before we can proceed to discuss details," continued Desaad, his tone softening slightly as he moved into an area he knew might prove difficult. "Your abilities are well known to us – that's why we are keen to secure your services – but we know you only by reputation. We wondered if you might provide us with a demonstration of your talents, so that we can be confident that our money is being well invested."

"I'm not a fucking circus act, Desaad," replied Bates, irritated. "Either you want my help or you don't – your choice."

"Of course, of course," said Desaad, trying to row back a little but still determined to get his way. "Still, you must understand our position – fifteen million is a lot of money…."

Bates hesitated. He didn't like using his ability as if he was part of some freak show for the amusement of others, but the money was tempting, and he sensed that if he didn't cooperate the woman was just waiting for an excuse to pull the plug on the deal. Perhaps just this once….

"Okay, I'll give you your demonstration," he relented. "But you know I can't just do it on demand – there are certain things I need to make it happen."

"Oh, we know about your needs, Mr Bates," said Desaad knowingly. "That's why we brought along a guest – someone who should more than meet you requirements."

He turned, nodding towards the darkened windows of the SUV. Seconds later one of the vehicle's doors swung open. Two women emerged, both aged in their mid-twenties. Tall and athletic, each was wearing a matching biker jacket, black skinny jeans and a pair of heavy duty boots. Both were armed, the reason for which immediately became obvious. Between them they were holding a man, his arms bound securely behind his back. A hood covered his head, and Bates could tell from his muffled cries that he had also been gagged. He wore a pair of jeans, but he was bare above the waist. He was a well-built guy, and someone who clearly hit the gym on a regular basis; despite this the two women had little difficulty in manhandling him forwards, the press of a gun barrel to his head quickly ensuring his cooperation.

The man was marched in front of Desaad, a swift blow to his gut from one of the women forcing him to his knees.

"I hope he is acceptable – I picked him out specially," said Desaad, reaching down and pulling off the man's hood. In his late twenties, he was a good looking guy, a flawless complexion and well defined features set off by a head of thick black hair and some carefully groomed stubble. Immediately his eyes were everywhere, taking in his new surroundings and looking for any opportunity for escape. He was clearly scared, and the cuts and bruises on his body made it obvious that he had already taken a beating from his captors.

"Who is he?" asked Bates, emotionless as the man stared up at him, his eyes pleading for help.

"Allow me to introduce Detective Nick Carnell, until two days ago a rising star of this city's police department," replied Desaad, smiling as he looked down at his helpless captive. "Sadly for our handsome detective, he decided to have a night out on Friday – and that's when he met Harriet here."

"He's a cop?"

"Oh, don't worry – no one's looking for him," continued Desaad. "As far as his partner's concerned, he's sick – remarkable how people trust what their cells tell them, isn't it?"

Carnell grunted angrily into his gag, his fear momentarily replaced with a flash of anger as he recalled how his kidnappers had grabbed him. He'd met Harriet at a bar. She was an attractive woman, and when she'd started to hit on him he'd been flattered. He had no idea she was spiking his drinks, and the next thing he knew he was coming to in a cellar somewhere, his hands and feet bound and a strip of duct tape plastered over his mouth. That had been two nights ago, since when Harriet and her friend from hell had subjected him to all manner of torture and abuse. He'd been beaten, electrocuted, and half drowned, and all the while Desaad had watched, like some sadistic dungeon master getting a kick out of watching another man's agony. They'd been no explanation, no demand for information – it was as if they'd kidnapped him just so they could hurt him, make him suffer….

"Is there a problem?" asked Desaad, seeing Bates hesitate.

"No, no problem," he replied, pulling a small knife from his pocket. He advanced on the cop, whose eyes widened as he began to suspect the worst.

"Hold him still," said Bates. Carnell began to struggle, but the two women quickly subdued him, one wrapping her arm around his neck so tightly he could barely breathe. He could only watch in horror as Bates stood over him, the knife poised menacingly in his hand. For a moment he thought he was going to cut him, but instead he reached down and grabbed a clump of his hair, removing it from his scalp in one swift motion.

"_What the fuck!?" _Carnell thought to himself. _"First they torture me, now they want some of my hair – what the hell is this?" _Instinctively, he began to struggle once more, but the woman's grip only tightened; he wasn't going anywhere.

"I heard that you needed a piece of your target – I didn't realise it could be so small," said Desaad, like a doctor dispassionately observing a new procedure. Part of him was a little disappointed. He'd expected the process to be more bloody, more violent; a lock of hair left him feeling almost cheated.

"What, you were expecting something out of Reservoir Dogs?" said Bates, reading the other man's thoughts. He'd done his homework; he knew how Desaad got his kicks out of torturing people, and realised that his new employer would have been expecting something altogether more spectacular. "I'm not a monster, Desaad – I don't get off on hurting people like you do. No, a few strands of hair, a finger nail – that's all I need."

"Really? That will make things a lot easier," said Desaad, glancing across at Goodness. The two of them had worried about how they were going to obtain a piece of their target; this news simplified matters considerably.

"What now?" he asked, curious to know about the next stage of the process. He knew that Bates would have to ingest the hair, and he had visions of the transformation which would then follow.

"Now I need some privacy."

Bates turned and returned to his car. Instead of getting in the front, he opened a rear door and got inside, disappearing from view. Desaad wanted to follow, to see what was happening, but thought better of it. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then there was a scream, so nerve shredding it even made Desaad, a man used to the cries of those in agony, wince. It lasted for ten, maybe fifteen seconds, reverberating off the walls of the underground parking lot to create a sound that seemed to have been conjured from the depths of hell itself. When it at last came to an end the silence which followed was almost equally unnerving, all those present left wondering what on earth had happened in the back of that car…

At last the door opened. Bates emerged – only it wasn't Bates. Carnell blinked, not quite believing what his eyes were telling him.

"_No…. it can't be ….. it's not possible!" _he thought to himself, staring in horror at the figure who was now walking towards him. The two men's eyes met, and Carnell's blood ran cold.

He wasn't staring at Bates – he was staring at a mirror image of himself.

"Remarkable!" marvelled Desaad. Fascinated and thrilled in equal measure, he could not help but stare. The likeness was indeed remarkable; Bates had transformed himself into a perfect facsimile of the stricken cop.

"Now do you believe me?" he said triumphantly, glancing across at Goodness.

"An impressive demonstration, I give you that," replied Goodness, her flint like expression softening a little. "I must congratulate you, Mr Bates – you have certainly lived up to your reputation."

"What about him?" asked Bates, his voice mimicking Carnell's to perfection as he nodded in the cop's direction. "Now he's seen what I can do…."

"My girls will deal with him," interrupted Goodness. "Don't worry, Mr Bates – he won't live to see another sunrise."

Still reeling from what had happened, at first Carnell didn't take in the meaning of Goodness's words. Only when his captors began to drag him back towards the SUV did he realise that they had no intention of letting him go. He began to struggle furiously, kicking and lashing out in a vain attempt to save himself, until a blow to the head knocked him unconscious.

"So, you've seen what I can do," said Bates, turning his attention back to Desaad. "How about you tell me the name of the guy you want me to target – you said he was some kind of celebrity?"

"You could say that," said Desaad, pulling a photo from his jacket and handing it to Bates. "You recognise him, I take it?"

"Sure, I recognise him," replied Bates thoughtfully, staring at the picture. There was a pause, and for a moment Desaad thought that Bates had changed his mind.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, trying to read the other man's expression.

"No, no problem," said Bates. What he didn't say was that he knew the man in the photograph all too well, and that if he'd known he was the target he would have offered to do the job for nothing. This guy deserved all that was coming to him, and inside he was thrilled to think he would be a part of it.

"When do we start?" he continued, handing the picture back.

Desaad smiled. "Everything is ready – my associate and I have been planning this for months. We hope to begin the operation tomorrow night – if you'd care to join us, we can fill you in on the details."

"Sounds good," said Bates, glancing over his shoulder. "But my car…."

"Oh, don't worry about that – I'll have one of my men pick it up later."

His question answered, Bates began to make his way towards the SUV, followed by Goodness. Desaad stood for a moment, lost in thought. After months of planning, the last piece of the jigsaw was in place. Soon the wheels would be set in motion, and the Justice League would fall. The Kryptonian would be enslaved, and his master would triumph.

Best of all, soon _he_ would be his prisoner.

He looked down at the photo.

"Soon, Mr Queen," he said, staring at the handsome billionaire's smiling face. "Soon I will have you – and then we will see what it takes to break the mighty Green Arrow."

* * *

Enter our villains, Darkseid and Granny Goodness! They both appeared in Season 10, of course, but Bates is a DC character who I don't think ever appeared. He's my version of Hannibal Bates, also known as Everyman - a shapeshifter, who as you can see is set to cause all sorts of trouble for Ollie and the guys...

Thanks to those of you who reviewed my first chapter - it's great to get some positive feedback. In that spirit please do post a review if you can - it would really mean a lot.


	3. Chapter 3: Old Friends, New Enemies

**Chapter 3: Old Friends, New Enemies**

"How do I look?"

Oliver stood in the middle of the room, nervously straightening his cufflinks. Chloe smiled at him, shaking her head a little in a show of mild disbelief. Her fiancé was one of the hottest men in the country – how could he not look good in a tux?

"You look gorgeous – just like you always do," she said.

"Really? You don't think this bow tie is a bit much?" he replied, turning and eying it dubiously in the mirror for the fourth time.

"It's fine – seriously," said Chloe patiently. "Oliver, you make green leather pants and a quiver look sexy – I'm sure the great and the good of Star City are going to love you."

Oliver grinned. "Hey, maybe I should turn up as Green Arrow – I'm sure the mayor would get a kick out of that."

"I'm sure the mayor's wife would get a kick out of that," replied Chloe dryly. "Now stop preening yourself in that mirror and let's go. It won't look good if we're late – the guest of honor shouldn't keep his people waiting."

Oliver turned. He stood for a moment, staring at Chloe.

"What?" she asked.

"I was just reminding myself how lucky I am – and how the future Mrs Queen is the most beautiful woman in the world."

Chloe blushed. It didn't matter how many times he said it, she still felt a flush of excitement and joy every time he said he loved her.

"Come here," he continued, taking her around the waist and pulling her close.

"Oliver, we don't have time ….."

He kissed her, his lips silencing her objections.

"We _always_ have time," he whispered, before kissing her gently a second time.

There was a knock at the door. "Mr Queen, the car's waiting," shouted a voice from the other side; it was Mitch Roberts, head of Oliver's security operation.

Oliver sighed. "Do we really have to do this?" he asked, staring into Chloe's eyes. Still nursing the bruises from the takedown of Minetti the previous night, all he wanted was a quiet night in; the idea of spending three or four hours with Star City's top businessmen and political leaders in the full glare of the media spotlight made his heart sink.

"Oliver, they're giving you the freedom of the city – something tells me they might notice if you don't show."

"I guess – but if you abandon me with the mayor I'll kill you, okay?"

Smiling at each other, the two grabbed their coats and made their way down to the limousine which was waiting at the front of the mansion. Two other cars also stood waiting, each filled with four well-armed bodyguards. This, as well as the new security wall and latest state of the art surveillance equipment, was just one of the costs Oliver was having to pay since his identity as the Green Arrow had been revealed six months earlier. He'd made a lot of enemies during his battles with Lex, and not all of them were behind bars; add to that all the mobsters and low lifes he'd pissed off since returning to Star City and there were quite a few people out there who wanted nothing more than to see him dead. They'd been countless death threats and at least two failed attempts on his life, one of which had come damn close to succeeding. Chloe's life had also been threatened, and so he'd been left with little option but to institute a level of security to rival that of a minor head of state. It depressed him enormously, and there wasn't a day that went by when he didn't envy AC and the others, who still lived their double lives under the cloak of anonymity. Roberts understood how oppressive round the clock security could be, but even he couldn't make the endless round of routines and checks seem anything other than what they were – a straightjacket, and one from which they weren't going to escape any time soon. He worried about the effect it was all having on Chloe. She didn't say anything, of course – she never would. Still, he knew that for a woman who was used to doing her own thing being tailed by two six foot tall guys armed to the teeth every time she set foot outside the door couldn't be easy. What's more, she couldn't do what he did, and escape into the life of a costumed vigilante. It was ironic, but the very life that had made him a target for every psycho and hitman in the country was also now the one thing that still gave him a true taste of freedom. On patrol as Green Arrow he didn't need a bodyguard; _he _was the one in charge, and it was those who threatened him who had cause to look over their shoulders….

It was a fifteen minute drive from Oliver's mansion to city hall. As they drove through the streets Chloe took the opportunity to check out the latest newsfeeds on her IPad. She considered it part of her role to keep Oliver up to date with what was happening in the city, and ever since her days in Smallville she'd always had a good eye for a story.

"Oliver, look at this," she said, showing him the screen; it was clear from her expression that something had caught her attention.

"Watchtower never stops, does she?" said Oliver, taking the IPad. "What am I looking at?"

"A detective's turned up dead down by the river. It's bad – the guy took a single bullet to the back of the head, but they're saying he was badly tortured before he was killed."

"Tortured? Why – what was he working on?"

"It doesn't say, but whoever did this knew what they were doing – they used his cell to text his partner to say he was off sick and wouldn't be in for a few days."

Oliver frowned. There was a picture of the dead detective, who'd been named as Nick Carnell. He was smiling in the photo, and Oliver couldn't help but think of what he must have been through before his life had been cruelly cut short. What had he got himself into, he wondered – who'd want to take the risk of killing a cop?

"Looks like Minetti wasn't the last bad guy in Star City after all."

"Yeah, I guess not. I'll put some feelers out tomorrow – see what turns up."

He handed back the IPad and looked out of the window, momentarily lost in thought. Naively, perhaps, he'd believed taking down Minetti would give him a chance to take a break, but twenty-four hours later and he had a dead cop on his hands. Would it never end? Maybe Lex had been right after all – maybe there was just too much evil in the world for heroes to ever stand a chance of winning…..

It was a bleak thought, but fortunately he didn't have time to dwell on it as the limo turned into the street that was to be their destination. Ahead of them a crowd could be seen, carefully marshalled by a large number of uniformed police. Oliver was big news wherever he went these days, but the award of freedom of the city had attracted interest from way beyond Star City. All the major national news networks were there, their trucks lined up along the opposite side of the street to City Hall. He could even make out the logos of one or two international networks on some of the vans, confirmation that interest in the Green Arrow had indeed gone global.

The limo pulled up alongside the red carpet that had been specially laid out for the occasion; the mayor was clearly sparing no expense in honoring the city's most famous son. Oliver could see the banks of photographers waiting to get their first shot of the happy couple, the dozens of journalists ready to fire their questions. He couldn't help but wish he was back out on patrol; facing a mobster and an army of heavily armed goons might be preferable to this.

"Ready?" asked Chloe, reaching across and taking his hand.

"Ready."

The doors to the limo opened, and immediately a hundred flashes exploded into life. For the best part of a minute the two of them barely moved from the beginning of the carpet, offering the assembled press corps the shots they were looking for. It was like a scene from Oscar night, and like any movie star Oliver worked the crowd like a pro. Smiling broadly, he traded quips with the photographers, so that soon they were laughing and joking with him as he patiently waited for them to get what they wanted. He seemed to be in his element; only Chloe knew that beneath the smiles he wanted nothing more than to dive back into the limo and head for home.

Photos taken, the two of them began to make their way down the red carpet. They moved slowly, as Oliver paused to sign autographs. He'd developed quite a cult following, especially among young women, and a lot of them had brought posters and photographs of the Green Arrow for him to sign. Then there were the inevitable selfies, each one destined for Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. At last they reached the end of line, but still they hadn't quite made it; it was here that the reporters were waiting, eager to ask him about the latest news from Metropolis…..

"Oliver, what do you make of what Superman's doing in Metropolis?"

"They say you know him – is that true? Is he part of your team?"

"Have you met him?"

"Where do his powers come from?"

"Could you beat him in a fight?"

"Who is he? Where did he come from?"

The questions came thick and fast, each reporter fighting to get Oliver's attention. The big news of the last month was Superman's arrival in Metropolis, and not surprisingly the media were keen to get the latest scoop on the world's newest hero from the Green Arrow. Every time Oliver had faced the media over the previous four weeks he'd been confronted with questions about Clark. On each occasion his answer had been the same; expressions of admiration for what Superman was doing, but a flat denial that he knew anything about who he was, or where he'd come from. Secretly, of course, he was delighted that Clark had decided to fulfil his destiny. But it wasn't straightforward for him, and given where he'd come from Oliver had given his word that he would respect Clark's desire to keep his true identity a secret. After all, Oliver was having enough trouble coping with the world knowing that he was Green Arrow; how much more difficult would it be for Clark if it became known that he was from a different planet?

"Listen guys, like I've told you before, I don't know Superman," said Oliver smoothly, not batting an eyelid. "But I hear he's doing good work in Metropolis, which is a city I love. Not as much as I love Star City, of course, and I'm deeply honored that the mayor has decided to grant me the freedom of the city tonight."

He was trying to change the subject, but the reporters were having none of it.

"A former employee of Lex Luthor says you had help from a man with special powers when you took him down – was that Superman?"

Again Oliver didn't flinch. "Afraid not, guys. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a ceremony to go to, and I think I'm already running late."

He and Chloe swept on into the building, more questions ringing in their ears.

"They don't give up, do they?" whispered Chloe.

"No, and they never will. Times have changed, Chloe – there's no going back."

The pair were immediately surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers, all of them wanting to shake Oliver's hand. A single voice floated over the din, a voice Oliver immediately recognised.

"Hey bro, how about a hug for an old friend? I've come a long way to see you guys – don't tell me you don't recognise me."

Oliver turned. There, standing over by a fire exit, stood AC, his face beaming.

"What the…..?" exclaimed Oliver. He had no idea AC was in the country, let alone Star City; last he'd heard he'd been checking out some illegal whaling in the South Atlantic.

"Well don't just stand there, dude – people are staring."

Ignoring everyone else in the room, Oliver strode over to where AC was standing. The two men hugged each other warmly, slapping each other on the back like long lost friends.

"It's good to see you, bro," said Oliver, his smile a mile wide. It had been six weeks since he'd last seen AC, and he'd missed him massively.

"Well when I heard you were getting the freedom of the city – dude, I couldn't miss that, now could I?"

"Did you know about this?" asked Oliver, turning towards Chloe, who had joined them.

"Well, I did….."

"Chloe…..!"

"Bro, don't blame her – I told her I wanted to surprise you," interrupted AC. "Although she did forget to tell me about the dress code – I guess I'm a little under-dressed for the occasion."

Oliver could see what he meant. Dressed in a pair of battered jeans and a leather jacket with orange bands around the sleeves, AC looked ready for a night out with the boys, not a $900 a head reception.

"Don't worry about that. My guys will sort you out with a tux – we always carry a spare," continued Oliver, looking his friend up and down. Tanned and smiling, AC looked well; the time he'd spent at sea had clearly done him a power of good.

"You look good, bro," he continued. "But what have you been up to? Last I heard you were targeting those whalers down near Antarctica."

"Yeah, I sorted those guys out," replied AC casually. "Then I ran into Black Manta – turned out he'd been waiting for me to show up."

Oliver frowned, his joy at seeing his old friend suddenly replaced with genuine concern. Black Manta had been hunting AC for two years now. A criminal mastermind who had once presided over a global operation to rival Lex Luthor's, he'd suffered a string of setbacks as AC had taken down a number of his operations in the Far East and the Indian Ocean. As a result he hated the young hero, and had sworn never to rest until AC was either dead or in chains as his prisoner. On two occasions he'd come close to making good on that promise; he was a formidable enemy, and one who Oliver knew should not be underestimated.

"Dude, it's cool – don't worry," said AC, sensing the other man's concern. "Manta's been after my ass for years, but you know me – always one step ahead."

He grinned, his smile signalling that everything was fine. They could talk about Black Manta later; now was a time for celebration.

"And you're sticking around, yeah?" said Oliver. "This isn't just one of your flying visits?"

"Sure, I'll stick around. Besides, a couple of guys I know are getting married in a couple of weeks – wouldn't want to miss that."

The reference to Oliver and Chloe's imminent wedding was greeted with more smiles. The two men continued to chat animatedly, before they were interrupted by one of the mayor's officials.

"Mr Queen, the mayor is waiting," he said primly, casting a dubious eye over AC's apparel.

Oliver was about to tell him he would have to wait a little longer, when AC interrupted. "Dude, you go – I'll catch you later," he said, stepping back. "Chloe will sort me out with that tux you mentioned, and then we'll both be there to see your big moment."

Reluctantly, Oliver acquiesced. He allowed himself to be led away, and was very soon surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers once more. Chloe and AC were left standing alone, watching as he effortlessly slipped back into his role as the people's hero.

"He looks good," said AC, his words as much a question as they were a statement.

Chloe didn't reply, her silence speaking volumes.

"The nightmares – he's still having them?"

Chloe turned to him. The smiles of earlier had gone; now she looked concerned, even worried.

"They're getting worse, AC," she said. "He's been seeing Dr Kershaw every week. She's upped his meds, but they don't seem to be helping. I don't know what else to do. He won't talk about it, but I know he's worried. He screams in his sleep, AC – screams like nothing I've ever heard! And when he wakes up he's drenched in sweat, the nightmare's so real. I want to help him, AC, but I don't know what to do – I just don't know what to do!"

The words tumbled out, each sentence a little more anxious than the last. After weeks of waiting, at last she had been given an opportunity to unburden herself. She knew she could trust AC; he'd been there when they'd fought Lex, suffered as much as Oliver had done. He knew what Oliver had been through, understood that although the physical wounds had healed, the mental scars remained.

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" said AC, putting his arm around her. He'd known about the nightmares, but the strength of Chloe's reaction had taken him by surprise. "Ollie's a tough guy, yeah? He'll get through this – it just takes time."

"I know, I know," said Chloe, the emotion of moments earlier subsiding. "It's just with the wedding in a couple of weeks…"

"You want everything to be perfect," interrupted AC, hugging her a little tighter. "And it will be – I promise. All the guys will be there, and we won't let anything spoil your day, okay? Trust me – have I ever let you down?"

Chloe looked up. AC towered over her, his broad, confident smile offering her the reassurance she needed.

"I'm glad you're back," she said simply. "We've missed you."

"And I've missed you," he replied. "Now how about we sort out that penguin suit? We don't want to miss Ollie's big speech."

* * *

Ten minutes had passed since Oliver had left Chloe and AC and dived back into the fray. He'd soon met up with the mayor, who had immediately taken it upon himself to introduce Oliver to the hundreds of guests that thronged the hall. Privately, Oliver found the man a bit much. Frank Jacobs was a typical twenty-first century politician, light on principles but with a vacuous soundbite for every occasion and a sharp eye for a photo op. Oliver's popularity had of course attracted his attention, and he was under no illusion that the honor he was about to receive was as much about the man's re-election chances as it was about his work cleaning up the city.

Oliver must have shaken hands with fifty or so people when he found himself face to face with the man who planned to kill him.

"Oliver, I don't think you've met Miles de Sade – he has just moved to Star City from New York."

The two men shook hands. Oliver's interest was piqued by the man's unusual name, but he knew better than to pass comment.

"So, what brings you to Star City?" he asked, for the first time noticing the intensity of the other man's gaze. It was as if he were studying him, searching for something deep inside….

"Oh, primarily business – I have a project here that demands my personal attention," said Desaad, his voice smooth and assured. He smiled, his eyes still fixed firmly on Oliver. "Still, I hope to find time to indulge my own interests during my stay in your city – there are some people I am particularly looking forward to spending more time with."

He continued to stare, his eyes seeming to bore deeper and deeper. Unnerved, Oliver decided to move on; the man was creeping him out, and he had no desire to linger for any longer than was necessary.

"Well, it's good to meet you," he said, his eyes already moving to the next group of guests he would be required to meet. "I hope it all works out."

"I read about your fight with Lex Luthor," continued Desaad, his words compelling Oliver to stop. "I can't imagine what you must have suffered, all those weeks you spent as his prisoner. An experience like that must take its toll – tell me, do you still have nightmares about what he did to you?"

The question was as unsettling as it was unexpected, its impact made worse by the calm manner of its delivery. Oliver stood rooted to the spot, momentarily lost for words. There was no way this man could know about the night terrors that were plaguing him, the flashbacks to the days and weeks he'd fought for his life as Lex's captive. Every time he fell asleep memories of those times returned to haunt him, images so vivid it was as if he was being made to relive the hell that Luthor had put him through all over again, night after night. Only Chloe and Dr Kershaw knew his secret, and yet here was this stranger, not just talking about his nightmares, but asking about them as if he knew…..

"_Get a hold of yourself, Oliver," _he thought to himself. _"It's just a coincidence. He can't know – he just can't."_

"Mr Queen?" asked Desaad. "Are you feeling alright? You don't look well."

"I'm fine," he said at last, deliberately ignoring the question that had for a few seconds thrown him off his stride. "Like I said, good to meet you – hope you enjoy your time in Star City."

"Good to meet you, too, Mr Queen – I very much hope I'll see you again soon."

Hoping that he never set eyes on Desaad again, Oliver turned, to find Chloe walking towards him. Relieved, he made his way to meet her.

"Where's AC?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek and taking her hand.

"Getting changed. Who's that guy?"

"What guy?"

"The guy you were just talking to – the guy who's staring at us."

Oliver looked. Desaad hadn't moved; he continued to stare in his direction, his features set around a strange half-smile.

"Just some guy," he said, turning back. "Now come on – I need a drink."

The two began to make their way towards a waiter who was holding a tray of drinks. However, after a couple of steps they found their way barred by the mayor, accompanied this time not by another set of men in suits, but by a little boy, probably no more than six years of age.

"Oliver, I want you to meet Tim," beamed Jacobs, gently pushing the boy forwards. "Tim lives at St Catherine's. They ran a competition for a chance to be here tonight, and he was the lucky winner – isn't that right, Tim?"

St Catherine's was Star City's largest orphanage, and both Oliver's and Chloe's hearts melted as they looked down at the small boy. Obviously overawed by the whole experience, he stared back at them, his eyes as wide as tea cups. Oliver in particular couldn't help but feel moved by the kid's appearance; he knew what it was like to be an orphan, and, although his experience was very different, he immediately felt a special bond with the boy.

"So, you won a competition, did you?" asked Oliver, bobbing down so that he could talk to the boy at his level. "What did you have to do to win?"

"I… I….. wrote a poem," said the boy, a little tongue tied by the occasion.

"Really? That's amazing!" exclaimed Oliver, his warmth putting the boy at ease. "I could never write poetry – it's so hard! So what was the poem about?"

"It was about Green Arrow, and why he's the best hero in the world."

A lump formed in Oliver's throat. The City could keep its honor – moments like these were worth a million medals and speeches.

"Thank you, Tim – that's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me."

"Tim's got something to ask you, Oliver," said the mayor. "Go on, Tim – what did you want to ask Mr Queen?"

The boy hesitated, perhaps afraid that his question would be answered with a no.

"What is it, Tim?" asked Oliver. "Whatever it is, I'll do my best to help."

Oliver's words gave him the reassurance he was looking for. "My friends all want to meet Green Arrow," he said eagerly, excitement suddenly overcoming his earlier reticence. "Will you come, will you come and visit us at St Catherine's – please?"

The boy looked hopefully at Oliver, who in turn glanced up at Chloe. He'd made it a rule not to do public appearances as his alter ego, but he knew that in this case he would have to make an exception.

"Of course I'll come – tell your friends I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The boy threw his arms around Oliver, his face a picture of delight.

"Looks like you've got a new fan there, Oliver," said Chloe, smiling.

"Thank you so much, Oliver," gushed Jacobs. "I know that the kids at St Catherine's will be over the moon to see you. Don't worry about the details – my office will make all the arrangements. In fact, I'll clear my diary so that I can join you – it will be great publicity for the orphanage."

"_And great publicity for you, too," _thought Oliver wryly.

At that moment a bell sounded in the hall, a signal that the formal ceremony was about to begin.

"That's my cue," said Jacobs. "We'll be starting in five minutes, so if you'll excuse me."

He moved away, picking his way through the crowd as they began to move to their seats. Eventually he came to a side door which gave access to the stage. Opening it, he stepped into the narrow corridor which lay beyond.

Desaad was waiting.

"Well?" he asked.

"He took the bait," replied Jacobs. "Doesn't suspect a thing – using that kid was a stroke of genius."

Desaad smiled; he knew that nothing was designed to pluck at Oliver's heartstrings more than a poor, innocent looking orphan boy.

"You've done well, Jacobs – our master will be pleased."

"I live only to serve him," said Jacobs. "I'll make all the necessary preparations – I'll contact you when everything is in place."

Without another word he began to move down the corridor in the direction of the stage. Moments later and he would once more be the ever-smiling mayor, the jovial host eager to honor Star City's most famous son. Only he and Desaad knew the truth; that this was all part of a plan, a plan that would soon see the young hero they had come to laud fighting for his life as a captive in a prison from which there would be no escape….

Desaad listened as the ceremony began. Oliver was soon at the podium, cracking jokes and winning over the audience with the well-practised ease of a man who knew how to work a crowd. He sounded confident, sure of himself. Desaad, of course, knew otherwise. He knew how fragile he was, how beneath the charm and the good looks he was brittle, ready to crack.

"_Yes, now is the time,"_ he thought to himself. _"You're weak, Oliver – weaker than you even know yourself. But soon I will show you – and then you will know what it is to experience true despair."_

* * *

Big chapter, this one - lots of future threads being introduced. The bad guys' plan is under way, and of course our heroes have no idea of the danger they're in - and we wouldn't want it any other way, would we?

Thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review - Aneeta, Pechika, and those of you who reviewed anonymously. I really appreciate your support - thanks so much! Feedback is always gratefully received, so if you could post a review that would be great - a little encouragement is always welcome!


	4. Chapter 4: Betrayed

**Chapter 4: Betrayed**

Oliver cruised through the late morning traffic, the ducati making light work of the congestion that seemed now to clog the city's arteries on an almost daily basis. It was the first time he'd been on a bike since he'd ploughed into the back of Minetti's SUV, and it felt good to be back on the road once more. He'd always loved motorcycles, ever since he was a kid. He'd bought his first bike when he was sixteen, and since then his collection had grown, so that now he owned over twenty machines, ranging from a classic Harley to the very latest high performance models. He was proud of his collection, but he retained a particular soft spot for his ducatis. He owned six, not counting the one that he'd written off a couple of nights previously. He'd had four specially modified for when he was out on patrol, but the one he was riding that morning was a standard model, one he'd bought two months earlier. It rode like a dream, and Oliver liked nothing better than to take it out and enjoy its power and speed. More than that, it allowed him to escape the constant attention of the paparazzi, as well as the suffocating effect of his own security team. Once he put on his helmet and slipped out the rear entrance to the mansion he was just another anonymous biker in a leather jacket and jeans, out enjoying a ride. The bike got more attention than he did, and that was just how he wanted it.

This morning it felt especially good to be out on the road. The previous night's ceremony had gone well, but four hours pressing the flesh and making small talk with Star City's rich and powerful had left him badly in need of a break. The morning news had been full of it, of course, the coverage of his award even making some headlines nationally. He couldn't help but recall how it had all been so different a year ago. Framed by Lex, then he'd been public enemy number one, a cop killer who deserved everything he got. Pictures of him in a prison jumpsuit, cuffed and shackled, had flown around the world, lapped up by a public hungry for news of the billionaire with the secret double life. A lot had happened since then, of course. Lex had been defeated, the truth about his criminal empire finally exposed. He'd been exonerated of all involvement in Dean Caruso's death, and regained control of Queen Industries. The guys had got closer, their bond strengthened by their shared sense of loss at Bart's death. Above all, his love for Chloe had deepened, and soon that love would be sealed by the wedding that they had both dreamed of for so long. After so much pain, so much hardship, at last he had the prospect of true happiness, a shared future with the woman who had completely stolen his heart. And yet, and yet…..

Still he had the nightmares. Every night they haunted him, to the point that he now dreaded going to bed. The pattern never varied. At first his body would fight the onset of sleep, but eventually exhaustion would overwhelm him. He would drift off, and then he would see them – the faces. His parents, Bart, Dean, even Lex, they were all there, each of them surrounded by fire. They would scream at him, beg him to save them as the flames licked higher and higher. Their suffering could not be more real, more visceral, but every time his reaction was the same:

Nothing.

He would stand rooted to the spot, watching as these people burned alive in front of his very eyes. Why did he do that? Why didn't he try to save them? He had no answers, but one thing he did know - the nightmares weren't getting any better. It had taken him a while to recognise he needed help, but as soon as he'd met Dr Kershaw he knew he'd done the right thing. They'd immediately hit it off, her sense of humour immediately putting him at his ease. She seemed to understand him, and although her treatment had yet to yield much by way of an improvement he had come to look forward to his weekly visits to her clinic. It was an opportunity for him to unburden himself, and whatever he wanted to discuss he knew that he could rely on her discretion; not only were their discussions subject to doctor/patient confidentiality, but she'd also cleared her appointment book for the mornings of his visits so that no one saw him come and go. She had become more than his doctor; she was his confessor, his confidante, and as he brought the bike to a halt outside her clinic he had no idea of the danger that was lurking inside….

Checking to see there was no one about, Oliver removed his helmet and strode towards the door. Inside he stopped abruptly. Instead of the usual receptionist, an elderly woman was sitting behind the desk.

"Mr Queen, is it?" she said, beaming. "Dr Kershaw is expecting you – I'll just let her know you're here."

"Thanks," said Oliver warily. The woman's presence made him feel uneasy; he didn't like surprises, especially as far as his visits to Kershaw were concerned.

"The doctor will be right out," she continued, her rictus grin never wavering. An awkward silence followed, until the door to the consulting room opened and Kershaw appeared.

"Oliver, it's good to see you," she said warmly. "You've met Violet - Anna's been taken ill, and she's kindly agreed to cover for her for a few days."

Oliver hesitated. "And she's…..?"

"Oh, of course!" said Kershaw, anticipating his question and rushing to reassure. "Violet is very discrete – she wouldn't dream of telling anyone about your visit here."

"Oh, yes - please don't worry, dear," said the woman, smiling indulgently as if Oliver's concerns were entirely reasonable. "I take a patient's privacy very seriously – I shall be the soul of discretion, I promise you."

Oliver wasn't satisfied, but he knew there wasn't much he could do – the woman had seen him now, and he would just have to take Kershaw at her word that she could be trusted. Sighing, he stepped past and into the consulting room. Behind his back the two women exchanged glances; the older woman's smile had gone, to be replaced with something altogether colder, more calculating…..

"And how are you?" asked Kershaw, closing the door behind her. "I saw you on TV last night – I thought your speech was amazing."

"Thanks," replied Oliver, relaxing a little now that he was in the safety of the consulting room. "Not exactly my idea of a good night out, but it seems to have gone okay."

"And the nightmares?"

"The same – those pills you gave me don't seem to be making much difference."

"That's too bad – I'd hoped they would have been having some effect by now." She frowned, clearly disappointed that her latest treatment wasn't working.

"Oliver….."

"Yes - what is it?" he asked, picking up a change in the tone of her voice; the confidence was gone, replaced by something altogether more uncertain, more doubtful.

"I'm wondering – perhaps we should try something completely different," she replied, walking to her desk and picking up a sheaf of papers. "I've been reading about a new treatment, something that might work in cases like yours. They've been trialling it in Germany – only a handful of cases so far, but the results have been encouraging."

"Sounds intriguing," said Oliver, his interest clearly piqued. "What's it involve?"

"No drugs, you'll be glad to hear," said Kershaw, making a show of studying the papers carefully. "It's based around meditation and hypnosis. Still all very experimental, so I don't want you to get your hopes up too much."

"Listen, after what I've been through I'll try anything. Besides, I trust you – it's not as if you're going to take any unnecessary risks with your star patient, is it?"

"No, of course not," she replied, blushing slightly. Fortunately for her, Oliver hardly noticed. He was too busy thinking about the new therapy, and the possibility of at last being able to lay his demons to rest.

"So what do I do? Do you dangle a watch in front of me and tell me that I will _feel sleepy, very sleepy?"_

"Very funny. No, what I need you to do is to lie down over there for me."

Oliver did as he was told, lying down on the bed which lay along one side of the consulting room. Its back was propped up slightly, so he found himself lying at an angle of around 30 degrees. He failed to notice that the bed had been moved from its normal position, so that now it was possible for someone to move behind where he lay…

"Now I want you to close your eyes, and concentrate on my voice."

Dutifully, Oliver did as he was instructed. Kershaw continued to talk, but as soon as his eyes were closed she pressed a button on her intercom. Immediately the door opened. The old woman silently entered, her eyes turning instantly to the young hero who lay just a few feet away. Distracted by Kershaw's voice, Oliver remained oblivious as she moved ever closer, a chloroform soaked rag clasped in her right hand…..

"You know if this is meant to help me relax, it's not working," said Oliver, increasingly bemused by what was going on. Kershaw's words seemed to be meaningless, just a collection of random phrases and sentences, and he was already beginning to doubt this new treatment was going to live up to expectations.

"It will, Oliver, trust me," said Kershaw, her heart in her mouth as she watched the old woman close in on their unsuspecting prey. "Just keep your eyes closed and stay focused on my voice – it will soon be over, I promise."

_Soon be over? _The words struck Oliver as odd – surely the treatment was just about to begin? And there was something about Kershaw's voice – it sounded strained, as if she was worried about something. Something wasn't right – something wasn't right at all…..

It was then he smelt it. It was very faint, but the aroma was unmistakable:

_Chloroform!_

Oliver's eyes sprang open, but it was too late; the woman's arm was already around his neck, pinioning him to the bed. Before he had time to react she clamped the chloroform soaked rag over his mouth and nose. Desperately he reached upwards, grabbing her arm. He tried to pull her off, but he couldn't – the woman was remarkably strong, and that, combined with the angle that he was lying at, made resistance impossible. Still he struggled, his legs lashing out as he tried to get the leverage he needed to wrench himself free. But he was weakening, and weakening fast; he could feel himself losing consciousness, the sickly sweet smell of the chloroform filling his senses…

Granny Goodness stared down at him, stone faced and emotionless as her hapless victim gradually succumbed to the effects of the drug. Oliver was physically strong, but she had planned her ambush carefully; the outcome was never in doubt. She watched as his eyelids flickered, and then closed. Still she did not remove the rag; she wasn't prepared to take any chances, and continued to press it hard over the stricken hero's mouth for a further ten seconds or so. Only when she was certain that he was out cold did she step back, leaving Oliver slumped lifeless across the bed.

The trap had been sprung – now it was time to set to work.

* * *

The first thing that Oliver was aware of when he started to come to was the chloroform. Sweet and pungent, it clung to the back of his throat, a potent reminder of the attack of minutes earlier. He guessed it was minutes, although in truth he had no idea – he could have been out for hours as far as he knew. As his head began to clear he cursed his own stupidity. As soon as he saw that woman at reception he should have guessed something was wrong; instead he'd trusted Kershaw, and look where that had got him. Was she a part of this? Perhaps she was being blackmailed, but if so, by whom? Who was that woman, and what did she want?

Oliver dismissed such thoughts from his head. Answers could wait – what mattered now was to get the hell out of there.

He tried to move, but couldn't. It didn't take him long to work out why. He could feel the thick leather straps that had been attached to his ankles and wrists, securing him tightly to the bed. Additional belts had been tied across his thighs, waist and chest, making any movement all but impossible. Worse still, he could feel two further belts, one tied tightly around his neck and the other anchoring his forehead in place. Whoever these people were, they weren't taking any chances; they'd got him, and he was powerless to escape.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The bed had been lowered, so that he now lay flat; unable to move his head, all he could see was the ceiling of the consulting room.

"He's awake."

It was Kershaw's voice. Moments later she appeared above him, smiling calmly.

"Grace, what's happening? Why are you doing this?" asked Oliver, pulling against the straps.

"I'm sorry, Oliver, I really am," she replied, her smile fading. Her regret seemed genuine, and it gave Oliver hope that she might yet help him to escape.

"Listen, whatever that woman's got on you, I can help," he said, his words filled with urgency. "Just untie me and we can sort this out, I promise….."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr Queen. You see Dr Kershaw has a new master now – and she has served him perfectly, haven't you, my dear?"

Kershaw looked up. Moments later and Granny Goodness appeared over Oliver. She was smiling, just as she had been when he'd first entered the clinic. Then it had unnerved him, but now he saw it for what it truly was – a smile of pure evil.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" he asked angrily, at the same time all too conscious of his own vulnerability; whatever this woman was planning, there wasn't much he could do to stop it.

"You'll find out soon enough, my dear, I promise," she said ominously, her words heavy with meaning. She stared down at him, as if examining a patient she was about to treat. Apparently satisfied, she nodded to Kershaw.

"Gag him."

"What? No – Grace, don't do this, don't….!"

Oliver' protests were cut short as Kershaw pressed a thick leather mask over the lower half of his face, completely covering his mouth and nose save for a couple of small holes that allowed him to breathe. She then fixed it in place with a couple of straps which she attached to each other over the top of his head. Within seconds the job was done – whatever was about to happen, Oliver would now be unable to object.

"I'm sorry, Mr Queen, but we need to keep you quiet. The procedure is painful, you see, and your screams might attract some unwelcome attention," continued the woman, her calm, matter-of-fact delivery a chilling contrast to the meaning of her words. "But don't worry, it won't last long. Your friend Dr Kershaw has prepared you well, you see – all those drugs she's prescribed have weakened your defences, helped ready you for this moment."

Oliver's eyes widened, the truth beginning to become clear. Kershaw was no victim in all this, but a willing accomplice. All the pills she'd given him, they hadn't been intended as a cure at all; instead they'd been a means of softening him up, preparing him for whatever they now intended to do to him. Desperately he pulled once more at the straps that held him, his anger turning to fear as the doctor attached two electrodes to either side of his head. He tried to shout out for help, but the muzzle was too tight; his muffled cries could barely be heard across the room, let alone in the street outside.

"Sshhh, Oliver, it will be over soon," said Kershaw. Gently, she stroked his hair, as if trying to comfort him; her beatific smile did not waver, even as Oliver stared at her, his eyes begging her for help.

"That's right, my dear. And when it's over you'll remember none of this – it will be as if it never happened."

The woman placed her hand above Oliver's head. Almost immediately it was surrounded by a warm glow, as if bathed in sunlight. Oliver had never seen anything like it, but before he had time to think he was engulfed by a wave of pain that seemed to come out of nowhere. Immediately his entire body went into spasm, his muscles taut as they strained against the straps that held him down. It was as if he were being electrocuted, only there was no current, no charge. In agony, all he could see was the woman's smiling face staring down at him, the light still emanating from her hand…

_She's doing this… That light….that's what's causing this!_

Unable to control himself any longer, he screamed into his gag. The pain was excruciating. Seconds passed, and still there was no relief. Sweat poured off him, drenching his clothes and mixing with the tears that flowed readily down his cheeks. He bucked against his bonds, his arms and legs jerking uncontrollably as the waves of pain continued to pulse through him. Above him, his two captors appeared unmoved; pitiless, still they stared down at him, their smiles seeming to grow ever wider as they watched his torment….

After five minutes it was over. The woman removed her hand, the light disappearing as mysteriously as it had appeared. Immediately Oliver slumped back onto the bed. Exhausted, he could barely move; he could only watch impotently as Kershaw approached him, a syringe in her hand.

"Don't worry, Oliver, this won't hurt you," she said, carefully identifying a vein in his neck that would be suitable for the injection. "It's just going to help you to sleep, and when you wake up you'll have forgotten all of this, I promise."

With that she slipped the needle beneath his skin. Oliver barely felt it; seconds later his eyelids fluttered, and then he lost consciousness.

"You have done well, doctor – your devotion will not go unrewarded," said Goodness, removing the wires that had been attached to Oliver's forehead and placing them, as well as the laptop to which they were connected, in a small leather briefcase.

"Thank you," said Kershaw, gazing down at Oliver. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, in stark contrast to the agonies of moments earlier; only the sweat that still glistened on his face hinted at the terrors to which he had just been subjected.

"What will happen to him?" she asked.

"He will wake up with a headache, nothing more," replied Goodness, continuing to gather her equipment. "He won't remember me, or what just happened. All he will know is that he has just experienced your new therapy, and that the treatment has been miraculously successful."

"I mean what will happen to him afterwards? What are you planning to do with him?"

Goodness stopped what she was doing. "You should know better than to ask questions like that, doctor," she said ominously, turning and fixing Kershaw with a stare that could freeze blood. "Be content that you have served our master well – do not pry into matters that do not concern you."

"Yes, yes, of course – I'm sorry – I didn't….."stammered Kershaw, physically recoiling from Goodness's glare. She hesitated, and then hurried from the room.

Goodness took her cell from her case. The operation had gone successfully; it was time for her to report.

"It's done," she said calmly, not waiting for the person on the other end of the line to speak. "Prepare Bates – we will begin the memory transfer immediately."

Returning the cell to her case, she made ready to leave. Only when she was at the door did she stop herself. There was one more thing left to do – something that was vital to the success of the plan that she and Desaad had now put in motion.

Taking a pair of scissors from a drawer, she approached Oliver, who continued to lie motionless on the bed. Goodness was usually unaffected by notions of human beauty, but as she stared down at him even she was struck by how handsome he looked. The chiselled jawline, the high cheekbones, the flawless complexion crowned by that shock of perfectly styled hair – he was indeed a strikingly attractive specimen. She could see why Desaad was fixated on him, and, although she would never admit it, she was looking forward to what he had planned for the young hero. Desaad was a connoisseur of pain, but in what he had prepared for Oliver Queen he had truly surpassed himself…..

Gently, she cut off a tiny lock of his hair, before placing it in a plastic bag. It wasn't much, but it was enough:

Oliver's fate was sealed – and with him the fate of the entire Justice League.

* * *

If you think things look bad for Ollie, you're right - and they're going to get a lot worse, I promise!

Thanks to those of you who reviewed my last chapter - Aneeta, and those who posted anonymously. I treasure your support - it really means a lot. Any feedback on this chapter would be gratefully received - always good to hear what you think.


	5. Chapter 5: Two Enemies, One Target

**Chapter 5: Two enemies, one target**

Desaad stood in the center of the room, surveying his surroundings. It was a room he had designed himself, and for two months five of his followers had laboured night and day to turn his nightmarish vision into a reality. He had personally supervised each stage of its construction, his attention to every detail of the specifications verging on the obsessive. The lead lined walls, the thickness of the steel used in the chains that hung from the ceiling, even the number of straps attached to the examination table – nothing had escaped his scrutiny. He wanted his chamber of horrors to be perfect, and now, as he looked around at the result of all that effort, he felt satisfied, even excited…..

Given what he had planned he had good reason to feel content, for the dungeon he had created was indeed the stuff of nightmares. Lining the walls were all manner of instruments of torture. Some, like the set of electrodes and the array of power tools, were modern, whilst others appeared medieval, their purpose not always obvious. Shackles and chains were everywhere, some attached to the walls whilst others hung menacingly from the ceiling. And then there were the heavy pieces of equipment. The rack, the St Andrew's Cross, the huge glass water tank, big enough to hold a fully grown man – everything had its place. Evil hung heavy in the air, even the room itself contributing to the sense of foreboding. Muted lighting left some areas in semi-darkness, so that fevered imaginations might wonder at the terrors that might lurk there. The walls were made of stone, cold and damp to the touch. Goodness had questioned his decision to base their operation in the crypt of a church, but now, looking around, he felt vindicated. The atmosphere was eerie, oppressive, just as he intended it to be. Death was a part of this place - he wanted his captive to feel that, to know that his torment could only have one ending…..

"It's done."

Desaad turned. Framed in the doorway at the top of the flight of stone steps that led down into the crypt stood Goodness, her expression impossible to read.

"And the procedure went well?" he asked anxiously, all too aware how much was hanging on her answer. Bates' ability to transform himself into the body of another person was no longer in question, but their plan involved going much further. Having made a copy of Oliver's memories at the clinic Goodness was attempting something that had never been done before – the transfer of a person's entire consciousness into the mind of another. It was a process fraught with risk, and there was no guarantee of success.

Goodness smiled. "The procedure was a complete success," she purred, savouring the moment. "Come and see for yourself."

His heart beating a little faster in anticipation of what was to come, Desaad skipped up the steps and followed Goodness down a narrow corridor to where the procedure had been carried out. Entering the room, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A man was sitting on the edge of a bed, his head still attached by wires to an array of monitors. He grinned at Desaad, just as he'd seen that same face grin at the banks of paparazzi at the reception a couple of nights before…..

"What do you think?" asked Bates, enjoying the look of shock on Desaad's face.

"Incredible…. Quite incredible," replied Desaad, unable to stop staring. He'd studied Oliver for months, pouring over thousands of pictures until he felt he knew the man better than he knew himself. And now here he was, face to face with his double. The effect was remarkable. The hair, the eyes, the face, the smile – everything was a carbon copy of the original. The transformation had been flawless; Bates didn't just look like Oliver Queen – he _was _Oliver Queen.

"And the memory transfer? It went well?" he asked, still taken aback by Bates' appearance.

"I feel a bit woosy, but otherwise yeah – it worked like a dream," said Bates. "All I have to do is think about it and I'm there – inside his head. I know everything there is to know about Oliver Queen – and I mean _everything."_

"Including where he has hidden the kryptonite," said Goodness, allowing herself a smile.

She and Desaad exchanged glances. Finding Oliver's secret store of kryptonite was a key aspect of their plan, and already it was within their grasp.

"Now if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep," said Bates, lying back on the bed. "That procedure or whatever you call it has taken it out of me, and we wouldn't want our hero to look anything but his best tomorrow, would we?"

"Of course," replied Desaad, turning and making his way from the room. Energised by what he had seen, he reached for his cell. He had a number of calls to make if everything was to be ready for tomorrow, and he didn't have time to waste. Striding past the entrance to his dungeon, he felt a frisson of excitement.

After months of planning, it was about to happen.

Tomorrow they would take him – tomorrow they would kidnap Oliver Queen.

* * *

"It's not looking good, Carlos – it's not looking good at all."

It wasn't often that Ed Taylor had to deliver bad news to one of his clients. One of the richest lawyers in the country, he'd built his career around defending the mob. His paymasters had got used to him working miracles on their behalf, but not even he could see a way of saving Carlos Minetti from jail. The state's case was watertight, and baring a miracle he was going away for a very long time.

"How long will I get?" growled Minetti. The two men sat facing one another in an interview room at the State Pen. The contrast between them could not have been more stark. Taylor was immaculate in his Armani suit, the sort of suit that once lined Minetti's closet. Now, however, the mobster was dressed in prison overalls, his hands cuffed in front of him. Shorn of the trappings of power, he looked what he was – a bitter old man, facing the prospect of a life behind bars.

"Forty years, minimum," replied Taylor. He didn't bother to sweeten the pill; Minetti wanted it straight, and that was exactly how he intended to be.

"Forty years? So you're telling me I'm going to die here, is that it?"

"We can ask the judge to go easy on you on account of your age, but yeah, it looks that way. I'm sorry, Carlos, but the evidence that the Green Arrow gave…"

"FUCK THE GREEN ARROW!" exploded Minetti, smashing his fists on the table. "That bastard's gonna pay for this, do you hear? I'm gonna make that fucking pretty boy pay!"

The force of Minetti's anger made Taylor wince. The other man sat quietly for a moment, trying to regain control of his emotions. All he'd thought about since his arrest was how he would get his revenge on the archer, the pictures of Oliver receiving the freedom of the city that were splashed across every newspaper and website doing little to improve his temper. His anger had turned into an obsession, one that was about to take a deadly turn….

"I want you to do something for me," he said finally, lowering his voice. "I want you to find someone."

"Who?"

"His name's Floyd Lawton, but you might know him by his other name – Deadshot."

The color drained a little from Taylor's face. He did recognise the name – it was name known to everyone connected with the world of organised crime. Floyd Lawton, the assassin who never missed. He was the mob's hitman of choice, a cold blooded killer who had made over fifty hits over a three year period. He was not someone you messed with, and Taylor had no wish to make his acquaintance.

"Carlos, I want to help, but Lawton – I can't….."

"You're gonna do this for me, Taylor," interrupted Minetti, fixing the other man with a flint like stare. "Otherwise that lovely wife of yours is going to have an accident, understand?"

Taylor blanched. This was no idle threat; Minetti still had friends on the outside, friends who would think nothing of arranging an "accident" on his behalf.

"Okay, okay," he said, relenting. "What do I tell him when I find him?"

"What do you think you tell him? Tell him he owes me, and that I'm calling in the favour. Tell him I want him to kill Oliver Queen."

* * *

First Desaad and Goodness, now Deadshot?! I think you know things are about to get bad for Ollie - and I mean REALLY bad. And it's not just going to be Green Arrow in the firing line - Chloe and the guys are in serious trouble, too. Just how much trouble you'll have to wait and see, but one thing's certain - plenty of angst, drama and whump ahead!

Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to Aneeta, Spies, Jerry and the guests (you know who you are) who took the time to review - you have no idea how much your feedback means to me! Please do post a review if you can, as it's great to know what you guys are thinking. Next update in a couple of weeks - sorry it can't be sooner, but real life comes first and I'm really busy right now.


	6. Chapter 6: You're Mine Now, Oliver Queen

**Chapter 6: "You're mine now, Oliver Queen."**

"So, what do you think? I look good, yeah?"

AC looked hopefully at his friends. He hated wearing a suit, but Oliver and Chloe's impending wedding had forced him to buy one. Unwisely, perhaps, he'd decided to purchase online, and now, trying it on for the first time, he was beginning to regret it. The jacket felt tight across his shoulders, and the pants were an inch or so too short. He hoped he could still get away with it, but the look on Victor's face told him otherwise.

"What? What's wrong with it?" he asked defensively, challenging his friend to say what he was thinking.

Victor smiled. "Nothing, bro. You look great – wearing that I'm sure you'll get a lot of attention at the reception."

"You think?" said AC dubiously, turning and checking himself out in the mirror. "They say the chicks dig a guy in a suit, but I dunno….."

"Believe me, _all_ the women will be talking about you," continued Victor. "After all, it's not every day that a guy turns up to the wedding of the year in a suit two sizes too small for him."

"Two sizes…? Aww, man, don't say that…..!"

Roy, who had been watching from the couch, laughed. "Guess you won't be hooking up with anyone at the wedding after all, AC," he said. "Victor, how much do you think he shelled out for that suit? Ten dollars?"

"Nah, not as much as that," replied Victor. "I'm thinking maybe five – six at most. What was it, AC? How much did you spend?"

"Stop it, guys – this isn't funny."

"No, really – how much did you spend?"

"Seven hundred."

"Seven hundred dollars?! You've got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Victor. He and Roy looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. Crestfallen, AC stared dejectedly at the mirror. He hated suits, he'd decided – unless they were made of spandex or leather, that is. If he ever got married he'd insist everyone came in jeans and a t shirt.

The three men were sitting in the basement to Oliver's mansion. Converted into a base for the Green Arrow's operations in Star City, it was stacked full of the latest communications systems. It also doubled up as an armoury and gym, an array of bows sitting alongside racks of weights and a variety of fitness apparatus. AC's arrival a few days earlier meant that of the Justice League's membership only Clark was missing. He wasn't expected until the day before the wedding, even though he was to be Oliver's best man; his new life as Superman meant he couldn't get away from Metropolis any sooner. Despite his absence, all of them were enjoying being together once more. Bart's death had hit them all hard, and in the weeks that had followed Lex's demise AC and Victor had gone their separate ways. Roy had followed Oliver and Chloe to Star City. They'd offered him a room in the mansion, which he'd accepted. As far as the press were concerned he was a kid that Oliver had befriended during his captivity; none of them knew that he was in fact the Red Arrow, the Green Arrow's sidekick who often accompanied him on patrol. The three of them had arrived in Star City months ago, and this was the first time since then that they'd seen Victor and AC together. It felt like old times again, the jokes flowing freely as they had done when they'd worked together against Lex's 33.1 program. Only Bart's absence was different; nothing was said, but each of them still felt the pain of his loss.

"I hope they're not picking on you, AC," said Chloe, entering the room.

"Us? Never!" said Victor, feigning innocence. "But if he will go fishing for compliments…"

"Victor….," warned Chloe, sensing where this was going.

"And now we get to it," said AC wearily, rolling his eyes. "I wondered who'd be the first with the fish jokes."

"Bro, that was me," volunteered Roy, grinning. "Don't you remember? _Hooking _up at the wedding? _Shelling _out for the suit?"

"Hilarious, kid," said AC, deadpan. "And I don't care what you guys say about this suit – I'm wearing it."

"Quite right too – you stick to your guns," said Chloe, taking him by the arm and joining him in staring at it in the mirror. "I think it's perfect – and all the girls will love you in it, I promise."

"See – someone appreciates style when they see it," said AC, striking something of a pose. "Arthur Curry, man about town – Star City ain't gonna know what hit it!"

Roy and Victor smiled at each other. They loved AC, but he was one of the most narcissistic men they'd ever met. He was a good looking guy, but man did he know it – that was why any opportunity to wind him up about his appearance was too good to miss.

"Where's Oliver?" asked Victor, changing the subject.

"Just finishing suiting up – he'll be out in a moment."

"I'm surprised he agreed to do this – I didn't think the Green Arrow made public appearances."

"Yeah, I suppose I am a bit too," replied Chloe. "But you should have seen the kid who asked him to do it – one of the cutest faces you ever saw! He just couldn't say no, and besides, the orphanage is a great cause."

"So's Mayor Jacobs' re-election campaign," observed Roy cynically. "And something tells me he'll be right alongside Oliver when the press start taking pictures. Orphans and the city's hero – photo ops don't come much better than that!"

"How is he, Chloe?" asked Victor, bringing the subject back to Oliver. "Any more nightmares?"

"No, no more nightmares," said Chloe, beaming. "Dr Kershaw tried him on a new treatment, and the effects have been amazing – these last couple of nights he's slept better than he's done in ages!"

"What's that?" asked Oliver, striding into the room. Smiling broadly and kitted out in his Green Arrow gear, he looked the best he'd done in weeks.

"I was just telling them how good Kershaw's new treatment has been – one session and it looks as if you're cured."

"It sure looks that way," he replied, approaching her from behind and wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulled her in close, resting his head on her shoulder. "Nightmares gone, bad guys locked up, and this beautiful woman is about to make me the happiest man on earth – guys, life has never been better!"

Tenderly, he kissed her neck. She responded, turning her head so that her lips soon met his. Immediately they were lost in each other, oblivious to the three sets of eyes that were watching them.

"Guys, please – get a room!" teased Victor, watching as the two of them continued to embrace.

"Yeah, I'm about to eat!" said AC.

Grinning, Oliver and Chloe parted. Sheepishly they looked at their friends, a little embarrassed that for a moment they had forgot themselves.

"What's the time?" asked Oliver.

"Three-thirty," said Roy.

"We'd better be going – the reception starts at four."

Together, Chloe and Oliver made for the door. The others said their goodbyes, before settling back into the boredom of a lazy afternoon.

None of them had any idea that those were the last moments of happiness they would ever share together.

* * *

It was a twenty minute drive to the orphanage. As they approached they could see the ranks of photographers and camera crews, all eager to get their shots of Oliver in his Green Arrow gear. Pictures of him in the suit were guaranteed to be front page news across the country, and even before the limousine pulled up the air was lit up by scores of flash bulbs. It felt like a red carpet event as Oliver and Chloe left their car and made their way towards the entrance to St Catherine's, smiling and waving to the crowd of onlookers that had gathered to watch his arrival. At the door they were met by Mayor Jacobs and Tim, the boy whose invitation had led to the visit. The four stood for a moment, posing for the cameras. Both Oliver and Chloe could see that Roy had been right, and that Jacobs was milking the opportunity for all it was worth. He stood alongside Oliver, beaming from ear to ear; pictures of him standing shoulder to shoulder with the city's hero would no doubt make their way into his campaign literature within days, accompanied by a suitably stirring slogan about the city's leaders fighting crime together. Oliver didn't care if he was being used. The boy was obviously over the moon to see him, and if the price of helping St Catherine's was some favourable publicity for Jacobs then he could live with that.

Pictures taken, the four turned and made their way inside. They were met by a uniformed security guard.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave your weapons here," he said, looking at the bow that was attached to Oliver's belt.

"Really? I was hoping I could show the kids," replied Oliver, hoping that the man would see sense and relent.

"Sorry, Mr Queen, but those are the rules – no exceptions."

Not wishing to make a big deal of it, Oliver unbuckled his bow and placed it on the table. He was now unarmed, just as his kidnappers intended…..

"So where now, Tim?" he asked.

"This way," said the boy, indicating a narrow corridor that led off to the left.

Oliver looked at the corridor, and then at the double doors that stood directly in front of them. Beyond he could hear the buzz of hundreds of excited voices, all obviously waiting for his arrival.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking from the boy to Jacobs. "Isn't that the hall up ahead?"

"That's right, Oliver, but we've arranged for you and Tim to make a big entrance at the front of the hall," said Jacobs, all smiles and reassurance. "Just head down there and bear right. You'll find a door marked hall – you can't miss it."

Tim took Oliver's hand and began to lead him towards the passageway. Chloe was about to follow, when Jacobs reached out and placed his hand on her arm.

"Not you, Chloe," he said, still smiling. "We've reserved a place for you on the front row – follow me and I'll show you."

Chloe looked at Oliver. "Guess I'll see you later," she shrugged. "Just remember these are kids you're talking to, Ollie – keep the jokes clean, okay?"

"As if I'd do anything else!" replied Oliver, pretending to be surprised by the suggestion. He grinned. "And don't put me off – if you try to make me laugh when I'm giving my speech they'll be trouble, Watchtower or no Watchtower."

He turned and began to follow Tim down the corridor. Smiling, Chloe watched him go. He looked totally at ease with the boy, and she couldn't help thinking what a great dad he'd make one day. They'd talked about starting a family, of course – maybe once the wedding was over…..

"Chloe, if you'd like to come this way…..?"

Jacobs was still at her side, his hand pointing in the direction of the hall. Glancing one last time at Oliver's retreating form, she turned and followed him into the auditorium.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

Oliver had expected the walk to the rear entrance to the hall to last a matter of seconds, but after nearly a minute of following Tim down a series of corridors he was beginning to wonder if the boy was lost. St Catherine's was a huge building, and only one wing was currently in use. It seemed to Oliver that they had wandered into a disused area, a fact confirmed by the piles of boxes that lined many of the passageways. Each was covered in dust, as if they had been left here months ago and not touched since. The place was also strangely quiet, in marked contrast to the noise that had accompanied his arrival. They'd encountered no one since leaving the lobby, and whilst he didn't want to upset the kid he was more and more convinced that they'd taken a wrong turn.

"No, this is right," said Tim. If he had any doubts about where he was leading them, he was hiding them well; gripping Oliver's hand tightly, he marched onwards, taking them further and further into the building….

Thirty or so seconds later and finally they arrived, Tim coming to a halt in front of a door.

"This is it?" asked Oliver doubtfully. The word "HALL" was painted on the door, just as Jacobs promised, but otherwise there was nothing to indicate they'd arrived at the right place – no waiting officials, no hum of an audience waiting for his arrival on the other side.

Tim didn't answer. Instead he knocked on the door – two clear knocks, as if providing a code to confirm his arrival. Without waiting for a reply he opened the door and stepped inside. Oliver paused for a moment, and then followed.

Instead of a room Oliver found himself in a narrow, dimly lit passageway. Ahead of him he could see an open doorway, and beyond what appeared to be a storeroom. Tim was already there. He turned, beckoning for him to follow.

Oliver hesitated. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt uneasy; there was something about this that just didn't feel right….

"Come on, Oliver!" said Tim. "We're waiting for you!"

The sight of the boy's smiling face was enough. Ignoring his instincts, Oliver made his way down the corridor and into the room beyond….

At first he thought the place was empty. Directly in front of him were piles of boxes and packing cases, similar to those he'd passed in the corridor outside. He looked for the entrance to the stage, but there was none. Just silence – a silence that told him he was a long way from where he was meant to be….

"Hello, Mr Queen – we've been expecting you."

Oliver spun round. Behind him, standing in the shadows cast by some of the crates, stood Desaad. Next to him stood another man, his back turned. Oliver couldn't see his face, but he could see what he was wearing.

A suit – a green suit, made out of leather.

_His suit….. the suit of the Green Arrow….._

"What the….!" gasped Oliver, instinctively reaching for the bow that was no longer in its holster. It was then he knew. Jacobs' invitation, the use of the boy to lure him in, the empty corridors – it was all one enormous set up.

This was a trap – and he'd walked straight into it.

He felt something hard pressing against his side. Glancing down, he saw Tim holding what looked like a taser. Before he could react there was a crackle of electricity, and twenty thousand volts shot through his body. Caught off guard, the effect on Oliver was immediate and devastating. For a few terrible seconds he stood rooted to the spot, his arms and legs twitching uncontrollably as the taser did its work. Helpless, Oliver could only watch in horror as the boy continued to press home his attack, all the while smiling that same cute smile that had melted his heart at the awards ceremony just a few days before….

Then it was over, as abruptly as it had begun. Oliver slumped to the floor, his strength momentarily gone. Immediately his attackers struck. Dazed and disorientated, he could do nothing as he was rolled onto his stomach. Hands grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back. He tried to resist, to free himself from their grip, but it was hopeless; his kidnappers were professionals working to a well-rehearsed plan, and within seconds he could feel his wrists being bound together with zip ties. More followed, tying his feet together, before further ropes were tied around his thighs and upper arms, binding his limbs tightly. With lightning speed he was quickly subdued, so that all possibility of escape was gone.

"Get him up."

Oliver recognised Desaad's voice. He felt himself being hauled to his feet, the blood rushing to his head. He felt dizzy, nauseous, and for a moment he thought he would topple over. His captors held him tight, however, and as his vision cleared he found himself face to face with the man whose plan to capture him had proved to be so devastatingly successful.

"Who are you?" he gasped. "What do you want with me?"

A hand grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" spat a woman's voice, just inches from his ear. He then felt the press of a blade against his throat, its edge nicking his skin and causing a trickle of blood to flow down his neck.

"Careful, Harriet, careful," purred Desaad, approaching Oliver. "Remember we have plans for Mr Queen, and besides – we wouldn't want to damage that pretty face, now would we?"

"What is this?" whispered Oliver, trying to remain calm. He sensed someone to his left, but the knife prevented him from turning to see; he remembered the figure in the leather costume, a suit that was an exact replica of his own…..

"All in good time, Mr Queen – all in good time," replied Desaad, his smile widening. He felt a frisson of excitement as he looked his captive up and down, his eyes lingering on Oliver's muscular arms, now pinioned to his sides. He'd dreamt of this moment for months, of making the handsome vigilante his prisoner, but now that it was actually happening he could barely contain himself.

He stepped closer, his body just inches from Oliver's. The two men stared at each other for a moment, the silence broken only by Oliver's laboured breathing. Despite the knife pressed to his throat, Oliver didn't flinch; whoever his captors were, he was damned if he was going to allow his fear to get the better of him.

"You won't get away with this," said Oliver, swallowing hard. "Whatever you're planning, I'll….."

"Ssshhh," interrupted Desaad, softly placing three fingers over Oliver's lips. Unexpected as it was chilling, Oliver fell silent. He expected brutality from his enemies, a punch to the gut or a slap across the face. Tenderness left him confused, speechless; already he sensed that his captor was someone very different to anyone he'd encountered before, someone altogether more unnerving, more sinister…..

"No questions, Oliver – now isn't the time," continued Desaad. He placed his hand on the young hero's neck, his fingertips gently caressing the sweat soaked skin. "All you need to know is that you're mine now – and I'm going to take very good care of you, I promise."

Before Oliver could react he felt a tiny pin prick just below his right ear. Barely had he registered that he must have been injected with something when his head began to swim. He tried to fight it, but it was useless; moments later his eyes fluttered, before everything went black.

"There's a tracker implanted in his right shoulder – you might want to disable it."

Bates stepped forward. He'd deliberately stayed in the shadows as Oliver had been taken prisoner, but now that he was out cold he had work to do. Reaching out, he grabbed a thin chain that hung around Oliver's neck. It had been a gift from Chloe to mark their engagement, but now it was to serve another purpose – to complete Bates' metamorphosis into the perfect facsimile of the Green Arrow.

Desaad watched as Oliver's doppelganger stripped him of his possessions. Seeing the two men side by side, he could not help but marvel at how complete the transformation was. It was impossible to tell the two men apart, and with Oliver's memories implanted in Bates' head he had no doubt that everyone – even Chloe Sullivan – would be fooled.

The plan was working. Soon Superman and the others would either be dead or in captivity, but at that moment what mattered to Desaad was the young man who hung lifelessly before him. Months of preparation had finally come to fruition.

Oliver Queen was his prisoner – and now the games could truly begin.

* * *

They've got Ollie!

I'm sure you knew this was coming - after all, I never miss an opportunity to put our hero in jeopardy! Lots of angst and whump ahead, I promise - and not just for Oliver...

Sorry for the delay in updating - real life got in the way. Thanks for all the feedback about the last chapter, and a special thanks to pechika, JackFrost and the anonymous guests who posted reviews - your support means a lot. Please do post a review for this chapter if you can - it's great to hear what you guys are thinking, and that you're still reading!


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